


Gimme What You Got

by Catchclaw



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, Facials, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:37:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You'd think a guy could beat off in his trailer in peace. Ah well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gimme What You Got

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Misha Collins. Have some porn.

The thing with fantasy is just to go with it.

Not to question it or overanalyze. Just go with the flow.

The unconscious is a funny thing even when your hand isn't on your cock, so that's probably not the best time to try and divine some deeper meaning from the images in your head, like the robots or the flash of hentai porn or your wife's smile when she's angry or the leafy greens in the fridge or the curve of the stunt double's hip or those green, green eyes that meet yours in a perpetual roll: amused, disgusted, and back to amused.

Yeah. 

And if they're the last thing that you usually see before you come, well. Who cares?

Somebody's calling your name. And banging on the door of your trailer.

"Misha!" a voice booms, and oh, speak of the devil.

He bangs in before you can move and what-the-fuck-ever.

"Dude, what're you doin' in--oookay!" he says, catching your face and doing a comedy quick turn and--

"'S fine," you say, leaning your head back and not zipping up because it's your space and you were in a good place just now and fuck if he's gonna be the one to yank you out of it. "But, hey, shut the door."

He does, almost automatic, and turns back. Fixes his eyes over your head and, oh. He's blushing.

Hilarious.

"Uh," he says, clearing his throat. "They've changed the order for this afternoon. They're gonna take Jared and Gen first, so we're, uh. Off the hook. I just came to tell you that."

"Oh, okay. Cool," you say, like it's totally normal for you to have a conversation with your co-star with your dick in your hand. 

Hey, maybe it should be. Heh.

He's still standing there, stuttering and trying desperately to look like he's not bothered at all.

Adorable.

"Ok," he echoes. "So, uh, maybe I'll see you later. When you're--done."

You give him a lazy once-over and watch the flush creep up above his collar. Meet his eyes, which are just as pretty in person as they are in your head.

Fuck it.

"Jensen," you say, his name like smoke off your tongue. "Come here."

"Uh, no," he manages, but he doesn't move. Doesn't flee towards the door like he should. He's pinned there in his workboots and Dean's jeans, staring at your fist in a slow slide over your cock, and that's the best fucking gift the universe has brought you in ages.

"I want you," you say--which is true in more ways than it's important to think about now--"to come over here and jack me off. And then, I'm gonna come on your face." 

He chokes, which is cute.

But again: he doesn't leave.

"Dude, I don't--"

You sigh. Let all of the tension fall out of your body and lean your head back. Close your eyes, let them flutter over the picture of him. Watching you.

"Okay," you say, low and soft. Move your hand a little faster and let yourself smile. "'S okay. Close the door when you leave, huh?"

There's a pause, and you listen for his footsteps. For the door slam.

Nothing.

Got him.

You can hear his boots spring, feel him land heavy and hard at your side. He's breathing through his teeth, the air hot over your jaw. You turn your head to kiss him, or try to, but he's got the back of your neck in one hand and your cock in the other and he growls: "No. You didn't say anything about kissing."

He bats your hand away from your dick and drops the pace. Works you over slow and it's kind of the best thing you've ever seen, his fingers curling, drifting over the head and back, squeezing just a little and tugging and it would be even better if the bastard would you let you kiss him but when you try, he just smashes his forehead against your temple, grips your neck like a vise.

"I said _no_ ," he grits, driving the words into your ear.

And whatever comes out of your mouth then is probably closer to Enochian than anything the writers will ever come up with.

It sure as fuck feels religious, what he's doing to you.

"Yeah," he says, his breath catching. "That's it. Come on."

Your back bows and you have a flash of 10th grade English as you raise your hips, try to fuck your way through his hand.

He laughs, this dark dirty thing.

"Close, huh?" he whispers. 

"No shit," you manage, and he laughs again and ducks away. And before you can process that, he's on the floor between your knees, still doing beautiful things to your cock with his fingers, and his eyes settle in yours.

Oh.

Green and gold, wound together and cut through with light, and if you didn't know better, you'd say they were laughing at you. With you. Whatever.

"Misha," he rumbles, and yeah, he's totally grinning, the bastard. "Come on. What're you waiting for? Come for me."

And what are you supposed to do with that, except groan and lose your shit all over his face, watch the white drip off his eyelashes and slide over his lips, and when his tongue flicks out to meet it, you know what you're asking for next time.

**Author's Note:**

> My first RPF. I have no excuse.


End file.
